


perception

by enamuko



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fraldarddydads, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 07:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20671496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enamuko/pseuds/enamuko
Summary: Lambert is failing to cope with his divorce, and he knows he would be absolutely lost without Rodrigue there to help him through it.





	perception

**Author's Note:**

  * For [credencesgrxves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/credencesgrxves/gifts).

> Just some dads being dads.  
I will make Fraldaryddads a thing if it kills me.  
Unbetaed (at least in its finished form), unedited, not even spell-checked. What else is new?  
Izabelle is Felix and Glenn's mom.

It takes Lambert three months to realize he and Rodrigue are dating.

This is, in hindsight, two and a half months longer than it should have taken him.

  


It starts with the divorce.

It’s probably not the worst divorce anyone has ever gone through, Lambert tells himself. And in fact he’s been witness to worse ones; Gustav’s was... _Unpleasant_, for a variety of reasons. But at the same time, telling himself something like that sounds like someone trying to convince themselves that, even if their leg is broken in four places, at least it’s better than it being broken in _six_.

“It’s natural to be upset,” Rodrigue assures him. “Even if it’s better for both of you in the long run.”

Things get messy, even when he and Patricia try to keep it from getting too bad. It’s not like they hate each other now, far from it. But there are hurt feelings on either side, and human nature being what it is... And then there’s the matter of Dimitri...

Well, Lambert isn’t having a good time, that much is certain.

He knows, without a doubt, that he would be lost without Rodrigue. Trying to balance work, divorce proceedings, and Dimitri would be just too much otherwise. Despite having to balance two kids and his own job, Rodrigue is the one who’s there picking up documents from his lawyer’s after work, or picking Dimitri up after school and bringing him to have dinner with him and Felix and Glenn so he doesn’t go home every night to an empty house and frozen leftovers while Lambert stays late at the office to catch up on all the work that’s piling up as he leaves early for appointments and legal matters...

“It’s nothing,” Rodrigue says when he thanks him out of the blue one day, while they’re sitting and having a cup of coffee in Rodrigue’s car outside of Lambert’s office on his lunch break.

“It’s not ‘nothing’,” Lambert says, sternly, because he doesn’t want to hear that modesty crap. “I don’t know how either of us would get through this without you.” Probably terribly, Lambert would wager.

“You know I would do anything for you, and for Dimitri,” Rodrigue says in return, and Lambert swears he’s blushing. “It’s— That’s what best friends do, Lambert.”

And that’s what they’ve always been, Lambert thinks. Best friends.

  


Rodrigue was the best man at both of his weddings. Lambert couldn’t imagine anyone else. He jokes about it now, saying that he won’t do the job a third time so Lambert can just forget about it.

“Oh? And what would you say if I told _you_ the same thing?” Not that it would be Rodrigue’s _third_ wedding— only his second, his divorce recent enough that Lambert almost feels like he’s stealing his thunder, or maybe riding his coat tails. He hasn’t decided yet.

“I... Don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” Rodrigue says, and the way he laughs is nervous more than anything.

Lambert doesn’t understand then. It’s another thing that takes him far too long.

  


“I just... I don’t _understand_.”

Lambert hasn’t gotten absolutely piss drunk since his college days, and _those_ occasions were definitely a lot more _fun_.

A hand comes down comfortingly on his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades. Lambert buries his face in the crook of his elbow. He’s glad he’s sitting at his kitchen table and not at a bar, because he feels tears stinging in his eyes and his shoulders start to shake, and no matter how much he tells Dimitri that it’s perfectly alright to show your emotions, he’s always been embarrassed at crying in public for anything short of a funeral.

He’s also glad Dimitri is over at Sylvain’s house for the evening, and doesn’t have to see him like this.

“I know— I know it’s no one’s fault.” He lifts his head to bring his tumbler to his lips again. The scotch burns going down; it’s good stuff, but he’s so far past the point of being able to appreciate a flavour profile that he might as well be drinking cold medicine for all it matters. “It’s just— When we started out, it was so...”

Even Lambert doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, his words getting lost between his brain and his heavy, liquor-laden tongue, so even _he_ doesn’t know why he looks at Rodrigue like he expects him to finish the sentence for him. Rodrigue at least looks sympathetic.

“How did you manage it?” he asks instead of trying to finish his thought. “You and Izabelle. You were both so... So put together.”

Meaning Lambert never had to go to Rodrigue’s house in the dead of night to comfort him while he cried into half a bottle of scotch.

“Izabelle and I... Just drifted apart, Lambert. It was different for us. Our problems were... Just _different_.” Rodrigue pats him on the back, firm, but goes back to rubbing in a way that Lambert would probably find condescending if it was coming from anyone but his best friend since primary school. “None of them involved leaving the country, for starters... But you’ll get through this. I know you will. And it’s... Alright to cry in front of me, Lambert, you know that.”

He _does_ know that. And when the tears start in earnest, and Rodrigue pulls him up and in so he’s crying against his shoulder instead of into his glass, Lambert also knows that he does not deserve this wonderful man.

  


Things get easier, or at least flow a little smoother, once Patricia is settled. Her end of the paperwork comes quicker, her lawyer is more accommodating. Things are still rocky, and Lambert would be lying if he said their weren’t still bad nights— there are still a _lot_ of bad nights— but at least on top of feeling like he’s been punched in the stomach, he doesn’t also have to be constantly chasing after minute legal issues before they escalate into a full-blown court case that neither of them wants to deal with.

He gets back into a routine, and he’s glad to see that Dimitri has started to perk back up, having him around more often again. It’s difficult for him, he knows— losing a second mother at such a young age has to be traumatic, and even if it makes his heart ache he’s glad when he hears Dimitri up past his curfew, trying to talk too quietly for Lambert to hear him through his bedroom door, to Patricia...

Lambert fully expects Rodrigue to... Pull back, a little bit, when things start to settle. It’s only natural, after all. He has a life of his own, two sons to worry about, a career every bit as demanding as Lambert’s; he’s grateful for his help but at the same time he knows he’s been a distraction at best and a leech at worst no matter how much Rodrigue reassures him.

And then... He doesn’t.

He’s still driving Lambert to work most mornings, telling him it’s on his way anyway and carpooling is good for the environment, and is there to pick him up at the end of the day. Some nights instead of just dropping him off, they’ll pick up food, pick up Dimitri from home, and all go to Rodrigue’s house. Sometimes he even stays the night, sleeping in the guest room or on the couch while Dimitri bunks with Felix.

It all makes him miss Patricia just a little bit less...

Then, on a Friday night, when Rodrigue picks him up, there are grocery bags in the back seat.

“It’s really not good for us to be eating out so often,” he says. “And it’s not good for the kids, either. We really need to get back into the habit of cooking.”

Lambert sees right through that, of course. It wasn’t like Patricia did _all_ of the cooking— He went out of his way to make sure he contributed as much as possible— but she’d always been better at it than he was...

Still, he knows Rodrigue is doing it to help him, and so he ignores any complicated feelings he might have and just says, “Sounds great. Hope you don’t mind the smell of burning.”

  


It turns out better than he expects, all things considered, though he figures that has more to do with Rodrigue than him. Still, Rodrigue’s normally immaculate kitchen is a complete mess.

“Don’t worry,” Rodrigue says with a laugh. “If you think this looks bad, you should see what it looks like after Felix gets home from practice.”

He’s pretty sure it doesn’t involve there being flour everywhere, or oil spitting all over Rodrigue’s stove out of the pan, but again Lambert gives him the benefit of the doubt.

“As long as it tastes good, that’s what matters,” Lambert says.

He’s washing dishes and utensils that don’t go in the dishwasher while Rodrigue tends to the vegetables, everything almost done, and it’s taken them not much time at all. Dimitri and Felix will be home from practice any minute (funny how he’s started thinking of Rodrigue’s home that way just as much as his own) and Glenn’s away for the evening. He’s glad none of them had to bear witness to him relearning how to cook properly, rather than just throwing a bunch of ingredients into a slow cooker and hoping for the best...

Rodrigue wanders over to help him with the dishes, and Lambert catches sight of a smear of flour on his face from the dinner rolls. He doesn’t even think twice before drying his hands on the nearby dish towel and reaching out to wipe it away with his thumb.

Rodrigue makes a noise, a sharp inhale through his teeth like someone might make if they hurt themselves, and Lambert swiftly pulls his hand away even when he knows there’s no way _he_ hurt him with such a gentle touch.

Their eyes meet, and everything is silent (except the persistent sizzling of food in the background, of course). They do nothing more than stare at each other for too long for it to be comfortable, like both of them are waiting for the other one to say or do something, though Lambert has no idea _what_.

“Lambert, I—”

Whatever Rodrigue is about to say gets lost when they hear the front door open and slam shut, and the rowdy voices of teenagers mid-argument echoing down the hall.

“I could have made it if you hadn’t stopped me!”

“I just didn’t want you getting hurt!”

“I know what I can do without hurting myself!”

“You said that last time and then Sylvain had to carry you to the nurse’s office!”

One set of footsteps stomps up the stairs while the other set carries towards them. Dimitri pokes his head through the open archway separating the kitchen from the dining room.

“Hi, dad. Hi, Rodrigue,” he says, his smile a bit tense like it always is after he and Felix have one of their little spats, but still genuine enough. “Do you need any help with dinner?”

“No, thank you,” Rodrigue answers for the both of them as he twists temperature dials and opens the oven door to check on the rolls. “We’ll call you down when it’s ready.”

“Alright!”

And then Dimitri disappears and Lambert hears him run up the stairs, too, probably to go fight with Felix some more about whatever their latest argument is about. He turns to look at Rodrigue, curiosity peaking about what he might have been about to say, but the moment is lost and his focus is entirely on the food.

When the four of them are sitting around the table not much later, Dimitri and Felix bickering over whose version of their story about soccer practice is right while he and Rodrigue play the role of impartial judges, he still can’t help but think about it...

  


“Rodrigue?”

“Yes, Lambert?”

“How long have we been friends?”

Rodrigue makes a considering noise and rolls his wine around in its glass, staring into it. It’s not a _hard_ question, but he gives it a lot of thought, and it’s not because of the alcohol; both of them are still only on their first glass.

“Since we were kids,” he says, fondly. “It has to be more than 30 years now.”

He turns to look at Lambert, and smiles. Lambert, from the other end of the love seat, smiles back.

Rodrigue pulls his legs up underneath him on the couch and turns so that he’s angled towards Lambert, so they can have a proper face to face conversation. Which would be much easier if Lambert was sitting in the armchair next to him rather than on the same couch, but he’d wanted to sit next to Rodrigue, so here they were.

He turns his own body towards Rodrigue, arm slung over the back of the couch. Rodrigue sets his nearly untouched glass of wine on the side table and rests his head against his own folded arm, pressing his cheek against it. It’s hard to believe he’s had barely anything to drink, because he looks so sleepy and content...

It’s such a contrast from the last time they sat and drank together, which was really less drinking together and more Rodrigue making sure Lambert didn’t drink himself into the grave. Oh, the hangover he’d had to deal with the next day had been enough to make him want to swear off booze altogether, but a nice glass of wine after a light dinner and a hard day at work is an entirely different matter from going at a bottle of hard liquor like the world was about to end...

Seeing Rodrigue looking at him so fondly, so _warmly_, makes something equally as warm bloom in his chest before he even has a chance to take another sip of his wine.

“30 years,” he repeats, in awe, but not because he doesn’t believe it. No, it feels like Rodrigue has always been there; he can hardly imagine life without him at this point. He’s been there through his highest highs— graduating and taking over his father’s business; his first marriage; Dimitri’s birth, with a few helpful parenting tips when Lambert starts to panic about being a good father...

He’s been there through his lowest lows, too. His first wife’s death, for one. The past few months, for another. And both of them had been rough and demanding. Not just on him, but on Rodrigue, because he’s really not sure he would have made it through either one without Rodrigue’s constant and unwavering support.

No, it’s not that he doesn’t believe he’s known Rodrigue for so long. It’s that he can’t believe Rodrigue has been so steadfast in sticking by him for _so long_.

“I don’t know how you’ve managed to put up with me all these years,” he says, because it’s the only way he can think of to express what he’s thinking without it sounding concerning. Because he doesn’t feel self-pitying or whatever right now; all he feels is an overwhelming amount of affection.

“You make it sound like it’s hard.”

“It couldn’t have been _easy.” _He laughs. “We both know I’m a handful. That’s a lot of work.”

“It’s not really work if you enjoy it.”

The response comes to Rodrigue so easily, it’s like he was planning it, and Lambert reaches over to pat him on the knee. He’s about to say something else, some joke about Rodrigue being a masochist or something like that—

But their eyes meet.

And stay locked on each other.

Lambert’s hand doesn’t move from Rodrigue’s knee.

The tension from the kitchen several days ago rises up between them. Anything he had to say dies in his throat. The sleepiness and contentment is gone from Rodrigue’s face to be replaced with a sort of... Wary anticipation?

He curls his fingers against his best friend’s knee, gripping him like a lifeline.

“Rodrigue?”

“Yes, Lambert?”

“I think I figured out why you and Izabelle got divorced.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, and he knows that _as he’s saying it_, but his brain stopped functioning a few seconds ago and is only just now starting back up again, leaving him practically smacking himself. Rodrigue turns away, blushing, starting from the tips of his ears.

It’s... Cute.

“You could have told me,” he says, figuring that as long as he’s already dug himself this whole he might as well dig himself deeper and hopefully come out the other side.

“It didn’t seem... Important.”

Lambert doesn’t know what to say to that. _Is_ it important? Maybe it shouldn’t be, because really, it doesn’t change anything about Rodrigue as a person, but... To him, it feels important.

“I also... I didn’t know... How you might feel, about it?”

Rodrigue turns his head so he’s _still_ not looking at him, but now he’s _not_ looking at him in the opposite direction, his hand cupped over his mouth as his face becomes redder and redder.

Lambert still hasn’t removed his hand from his knee.

“Rodrigue,” he says firmly, because no matter the tension that’s sprung up between them, he wants to make one thing absolutely clear. “Nothing in the world could ever change how I feel about you. Especially not something that there’s absolutely no reason for you to be ashamed of...”

“What brought this up, Lambert?”

Oh, that’s a good question. It had just been the first thing that had popped into his mind, staring at Rodrigue across the love seat, feeling that strange clawing feeling in his chest that made it impossible for him to breathe properly...

“I was just... Thinking.” He gives his head a shake, and takes a sip of his wine. “About the divorce. About myself. About... About you.”

Actually, it’s been hard for him to think about much of anything, sitting across from him and watching him looking so very content just to be _there_ with him...

Rodrigue makes a strangled sort of noise that pulls him out of his own head, and he continues.

“You’ve always been there for me, Rodrigue.” He squeezes his knee again. “For literally as long as I can remember. No matter how much trouble I got us into, you were right there with me, either to drag me out of it or jump in right along with me...”

From skipping class to that one time he got into a bar fight with a bunch of assholes running their mouths, it’s always been Rodrigue as either his voice of reason or his partner in crime...

But this? What’s been happening between them? The way Rodrigue has been comforting him, the way he thinks of Rodrigue’s house as his home, the way they can’t go ten seconds without looking at each other fondly?

Lambert is starting to realize that at some point, things most definitely spilled over from ‘partners in crime’ to an entirely _different_ sort of partner...

He moves closer, so he’s no longer reaching out to put a hand on Rodrigue’s knee, but instead simply resting it there. The only moment he took to move away was when he stretched to put his wine glass down on the coffee table. Then, he was right back to leaning towards him.

It’s funny how he doesn’t feel hesitant at all, like this feels so very... _Right_.

“Lambert...”

There’s a warning tone in Rodrigue’s voice that _does_ give him pause, but he still doesn’t pull his hand away.

“Your divorce just finalized,” he reminds him. “You’re lonely, you’re rebounding. I get it. But I’m not—”

He lets out a shaky breath, and Lambert, a fire in his belly, says, “Rodrigue, how long have we been friends?”

“Lambert—”

“30 years, right?”

“This isn’t—”

“I should have done this about 25 of those years ago.”

And he kisses him.

It feels right, perfect. He was being dramatic, trying to be romantic with that 25 years thing, but he honestly does wonder why he never thought to do this sooner, why—

Rodrigue makes a noise in the back of his throat, puts a hand on his chest, and pushes.

Lambert goes, of course, no matter his reluctance. He’s still leaning in towards Rodrigue with his hand on his knee, but...

“Lambert,” Rodrigue says firmly, staring at him sternly. A flood of different emotions goes through him. The warmth and almost giddiness he feels, remembering when Rodrigue would look at him like that after he did something _particularly_ stupid just before he would sigh and, however reluctantly, forgive him...

And a cold, hard feeling in the pit of his stomach, one of _fear_ that he’s managed to _royally_ fuck something up.

“I... We can’t...” Rodrigue tightens his fist in his shirt. He still has that stern look in his eyes, but he also doesn’t look as sure as he did a moment ago, before he started talking. “You know why I said what I said, right? About you being lonely? I know you, Lambert. I know you loved Patricia but I also know both of you rushed into things because you were both lonely. You need to love and be loved, but I... I don’t want to be your replacement.”

Hearing Rodrigue say that is like an arrow straight through the heart. All he wants to do is kiss him again, and again and again, but he forces himself not to, because...

Well, because he knows he needs to hear what Rodrigue is saying. And also because he has things of his own to say.

“Rodrigue... You’re right. Patricia and I rushed into things and look at where we ended up. I’ve been a mess...” He chuckled, shakes his head, and continues before Rodrigue can interrupt like he can clearly see he wants to, to tell him he’s not a mess. He knows he has been. “But you’re the whole reason I’m not even more of a mess. You’ve _always_ been that reason. Overconfidence, self-doubted... You’ve really been there for me through the whole spectrum of fuck ups.”

He squeezes Rodrigue’s knee, looks him dead in the eye. Rodrigue makes another strangled noise. His eyes dart around like he’s trying to look anywhere but directly at him, even though just a moment ago he was staring him down like he could bore through him with his eyes.

Lambert’s other hand comes up to cup his cheek. He can’t force his eyes to stay still, but he can keep him from turning away...

“You’re also right, I do need to be in love... I’m bad at being single.” He laughs even though he doesn’t really mean it as a joke. “But as for being loved... I don’t think I’ve ever need to worried about that.”

It’s selfish, he knows it is. Knows it always has been. He’s taken for granted almost all his life that no matter what stupid things he did, Rodrigue would be there for him.

His hand moves, for the first time since it found its way there, away from Rodrigue’s knee. Instead he reaches for one of his hands. He doesn’t simply _take_ it, though— he leaves it for Rodrigue to take himself.

“How long, then?” he asks.

Rodrigue turns to laugh into his hand, still cupping his face. It’s a harsh laugh, almost bitter...

“How long have we been friends?”

That makes Lambert’s heart skip several beats, clench up, _and_ melt all at once. Even moreso when Rodrigue’s hand slips into his.

“See? You don’t have to worry about me rushing into things. Not since I’ve been lagging so far behind for _decades_.”

“That’s a very sweet thing for you to say.” Rodrigue squeezes his hand. Finally, he turns to look him right in the eye again. His eyes are shining like he’s about to cry, but isn’t quite there yet. “You realize how important what you’re saying is, right? How important... _All _of this is, to me? I mean... I shouldn’t be telling you this, but... The fact that I’m gay is only part of the reason Izabelle and I got divorced. A big part, of course— a pretty _monumental _part— but there was also the fact that... That she always knew I had feelings for someone else. That I was in _love_ with someone else.”

“I had a hunch,” he says, and kisses him again.

  


“I love you too, you know.”

“Mmwhat?”

Rodrigue turns, but Lambert’s grip around his midsection doesn’t let him go very far. Lambert has always been the stronger one of the two, by a large margin. He presses a series of quick kisses to the back of Rodrigue’s shoulder.

“I love you too,” he repeats. He doesn’t know whether Rodrigue truly didn’t hear him the first time, being half-asleep, or if he just wanted to hear him say it again, but that’s fine. He’s willing to repeat it a hundred times, a thousand times. In fact, he’d be more than happy to.

“Moving pretty fast, aren’t we?”

Squirming in his grip, Rodrigue laughs and manages to turn himself around so that he’s facing Lambert instead of Lambert being pressed up against his back. Lambert can tell he’s completely exhausted. Considering everything he’s spent the past few months doing, and everything the two of them have spent the past few _hours_ doing, well... He can’t exactly blame him. He’s proud, almost.

“Mm. I have a lot of catching up to do.”

Since Rodrigue is facing him now, he takes the opportunity to bury his face in his neck, kissing there instead, which gets him a shuddering sigh that he wants to hear again and again and again.

“Before today I didn’t even know you liked men.”

“You never asked.” He kisses the long, pale column of Rodrigue’s throat, right where it starts to get prickly with the five o’clock shadow he hasn’t bothered to shave. “But if you’re wondering, you’re not my first...”

Rodrigue laughs, his arms snaking around to hold Lambert just as tight as Lambert is holding onto him. It’s tired and warm and familiar. Lambert has always loved the sound of his laugh, and he, almost impossibly, loves it even more now.

“I really did let myself stew in this for years for no reason, didn’t I?” One hand is carding through Lambert’s hair, almost like he’s petting him.

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t really figure out how I felt about you until... All of this.” Lambert huffs against Rodrigue’s neck. “Until I saw just how damn hard you were working for me, and Mitya, not expecting anything in return, and I realized... I realized...”

“I know,” Rodrigue says softly, saving him from having to put his thoughts into words. He will, one day. Right now he’s just tired and content and it’s hard to get the words right, and he wants them to be _perfect_. The hand in his hair rubs at the back of his neck. Then, Rodrigue laughs again. “At least now I won’t have to worry about being the best man at a _third_ wedding.”

Lambert laughs at that, too, until suddenly he stops and stiffens at a realization he hasn’t had until just now.

“Rodrigue,” he says, slowly, almost carefully, and then, “You know this means we’re going to have to tell Dimitri and Felix and Glenn.”

“Shit, I didn’t even think about that!” Rodrigue almost bolts up, but Lambert’s grip keeps them firmly in bed. Rodrigue collapses back into bed with a groan. “Not only that, Izabelle isn’t going to let me hear the end of this, ever... All that talk about you and I _still_ had to wait for you to come on to me first.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her?” he suggests, pulling Rodrigue back in to press more kisses against his skin.

(Now that he’s _started_ kissing Rodrigue, he’s not sure he’s ever going to stop.)

“Oh, she’ll know. And Felix...” He lets out a strangled groan as he covers his face with his hands. It’s probably the most overtly frustrated noise he’s ever heard the man make. “You know what Felix is like. I envy you, talking to Dimitri is going to be so much easier...”

Well... Lambert can’t argue with him there, not when Dimitri practically already treats Rodrigue like a second father. He’s more worried that Dimitri will latch on too quickly, now that Patricia is gone. After all, for all his smooth talk, for all his reassurances to Rodrigue that he’s not just on the rebound, he has no idea where this is going. Are they boyfriends now? Lovers? Certainly they’re more than best friends with benefits, and certainly they’ve gone at lightning speeds (again, Lambert considers it justified, since they’ve spent the last couple of decades dancing around it), but what about the future?

For a moment, he allows himself to imagine a third wedding, but rather than a faceless bride at the altar with him, it’s Rodrigue...

Lambert kisses his neck again.

“We’ll figure it out,” he assures him. “In the morning. We don’t need to rush.”

After all, they’ve been building up to this for 30 years, and Lambert has been sleeping on his feelings for almost three months now...

What difference will a little more time make?


End file.
